Friday, November 4, 2016

If
you ever want to feel insignificant, try to sell something. I’m just going to be real honest with you guys,
and admit that this book business isn’t going the way I expected it to. I thought if I explained to everyone that I
was signed by one of the biggest agencies in the business, and that I was just
a little too PG-13 in a R-rated society, that people would rally to my cause
and gobble up these books at their door buster prices. I had my whole Jerry Maguire who will go with
me moment, and I was ready to reform an industry and set a precedent.

Only
people haven’t been moved by me being represented by the same agency as John
Grisham. I could produce the legal
documents with his agent’s signature just above mine, but I have a feeling that
if I don’t produce John Grisham himself, they’d be a yawn. People aren’t buying the whole struggling
starving artist shtick with me, either, because I don’t look like I’ve ever
missed a meal. A few days ago I felt
like the William Wallace of contemporary fiction, with my face painted and
sword drawn as I bellowed a rallying war cry.
Today I feel like gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe.

I
don’t want to take anything away from the wonderful people who have marched to
the marketing battlefield with me.
Because they are a steadfast and dependable platoon. We’re just outnumbered by about a million to
one right now, so the total annihilation of my hopes and dreams is a real
possibility. And it really shouldn’t
be. Escaping Insanity and East of Oz are
fantastic books. I wish I didn’t have to
say that, because this tooting my own horn crap is a major turn off for all of
us. But I’m the one holding the horn
right now. Me and a few friends who read
these books back when they were manuscripts in a New York publishing purgatory. So we’re the tooters for now. (Go ahead, laugh.)

But
I’ve gotta say, I hate hustling out here on the social media street
corner. I don’t even know what streets
to troll to get the most attention. I
probably need a thirteen-year-old to come over and teach me how to use Twitter,
but in the meantime I’m walking up to every post that drives by on Facebook,
giving people the whole “Hey, baby, what you reading?” They ignore me, so I lean in with, “I’ve got
something that’ll keep your imagination going all night long.” I’m not
proud of it, but there it is. And my
stepdad hates to see me booking like this, so he said he’s going to order some
additional paperback copies to sell for me.
Just so I can come in out of the cold for a while. That’s a chivalrous thought, but I’m not in
it for the money. (Of which there’s
none.) Or the fame. (Of which there’s even less.) I’m in it to entertain readers and prove that
vulgarity doesn’t have to be a prerequisite of every facet of mainstream media.

You
don’t have to take my word for it about the quality of these books. You can read two or three chapters for free
online without even downloading it.
Judge the writing for yourself.
Judge your interest level for yourself.
Just give me that chance, the free no-obligation test read. I promise you won't regret it!